


Speech and Silence

by bibliomaniac



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, that's implied at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: Davenport once valued silence. He still does, but he can't bring himself to be silent when his mind screams that he needs to check whether he can still talk past his own name.Merle helps him through it.(aka the myles birthday fic about davenport post-s&s talking incessantly to remind himself he can, and merle talking to him about it)





	Speech and Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transdavenport](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transdavenport/gifts).



> happy birthday myles! sorry, merle and davenport are both not characters i write often and certainly not in any detail, but hopefully i didn't fuck em up too bad? we'll see lol i wrote a good chunk of this half-asleep tbh. which is also why it is shorter than it should probably be. w/e. everybody who is not myles, check out his stuff [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transdavenport/pseuds/transdavenport)!

Davenport has learned a lot of things over the course of his life. At one point he dedicated himself entirely to learning—about the planar systems, about bonds, about the arcane and scientific and about their intersection and how to harness that power, and about the power that lies in having a crew, a family, who support you and who love you and who will do anything to save you.

(He learns, also, that sometimes people have different definitions of what it means to save someone, and that people can be blinded by their need to help and their inability to see past what they believe. But that comes later.)

One thing he never had to learn, though, was the value of silence in a noisy world. The Starblaster in particular is frequently loud—Lup and Taako yelling at each other from rooms away because they can’t be bothered to get the stones of far speech they flung away the night prior, an explosion from the lab and Barry emerging frazzled from it, Magnus’s booming laugh, Lucretia mumbling to herself when she gets really into her revisions and forgets that people are around, Merle’s off-key singing as he waters his plants. Davenport even contributes sometimes, with less-off-key singing in the shower, with how his voice gets louder and a bit higher-pitched when he’s excited about a new discovery, hands trembling as he points at the hybrid in Merle’s greenhouse, _it’s self-regenerating at a higher rate than I’ve ever seen before, Merle, if we isolate the mechanism behind it we could have a consistent food supply without relying on transmutation in the bad cycles—_ until he notices Merle’s fond expression as he stares at him and then stops talking in favor of going a bit too pink to not be noticeable.

Yes, he knows that noise is important, but he knows also that silence is important—sometimes more so. And so it is that he ensured that a portion of every evening is dedicated to it. Without fail, come the last strains of the sunset, he’d sit in the armchair in his quarters with a cup of tea and take the time to be silent. Sometimes he’d read; sometimes he’d write; sometimes he wouldn’t do anything at all but sit and contemplate. But always, whatever he was doing, he made sure he didn’t need words to do it.

When Merle opened the door on one of these sessions, Davenport had been a bit irritable about it at first. But Merle just smiled after a few moments, holding a finger up to his mouth, then produced a new cup of tea that he had been hiding behind his back. He left after that, leaving Davenport gazing at the door thoughtfully, but he came back the night after, and then again and again until Merle finally confessed (outside of silent hour) that he had been looking for a place to get away from the noise too and he thought, if ‘Davenport wasn’t opposed’, that they could be quiet together.

Davenport had avoided expressing how very unopposed he was, back when whatever he was feeling about Merle was too young and too new and too nebulous, and instead just joked that Merle could come as long as he brought the ‘good stuff’. Which did lead to a misunderstanding, Davenport having meant chamomile and Merle apparently reading the request as an out-of-character request for hallucinogens, but they got past that fast enough and settled into a new routine: they sat and drank tea together, and they never spoke, only enjoyed the silence together and occasionally caught each other’s eyes to smile before going back to whatever it is they were doing. Even later, when Davenport had a bit of a crisis about his Merle feelings tipping firmly over from ‘nebulous’ into ‘fuck I definitely like him more than what would be appropriate for two friends, much less someone who I am technically responsible for’, even later than that, when Merle paused mid-conversation and asked with characteristic bluntness if he could kiss him, when they had a talk about their feelings and the practical implications of being together and—after all of it, they still sat together every evening, and they never needed words to be able to express themselves anyway, just their hands entwined as they take in the sunset.

It is past later, when he lost his words and got them back and helped take down the Hunger and sat shaking in his room mumbling to himself until Merle found him and sat next to him all night, that Davenport realizes that Lucretia had taken one last thing that hadn’t been given back: his silence.

He can’t bring himself to be silent anymore.

He realizes this that first evening with Merle, when he had chattered aimlessly on about nothing in particular, fingers plucking at his bedspread aimlessly. Merle had at some point gathered him into a deep hug, pressing Davenport’s face into his shoulder, but even then he found himself forming soundless words into the fabric of Merle’s shirt, just to remind himself he still remembered how to do so. He had figured it would get better.

Two weeks later, he’s starting to wonder if it ever will. He talks all the time, even when he has absolutely nothing to say. He talks to himself when he’s alone; when he’s near people—the other members of the IPRE had stayed nearby for the time being, except for Lucretia, who he hears has holed herself in her room and who he can’t think about right now—he talks incessantly. Research findings; he has a lot to catch up on, and he hasn’t been sleeping well anyway. The events of the past ten years. The events of the past two weeks. The weather, when he’s run out of things to say, and they all look at him with a question on their lips they don’t ask (except for Lup, who smiles sympathetically and rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment before moving over to Barry to start her own conversation with the same frantic energy he recognizes in himself). And, also, except for Merle, but Merle has always been an exception in so many things.

It is two weeks later, and the sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, and Merle comes into Davenport’s rooms, where Davenport is reading out loud to himself.

Davenport startles when he sees him, then smiles apologetically. “Sorry. I was just…sorry.”

Merle doesn’t say anything, just kisses him on the forehead with an easy affection that Davenport is still trying to re-accustom himself to, and sits down on the chair adjacent to Davenport’s, and stares out the window.

It’s the first silent moment they’ve had since all this, and Davenport knows he should be relishing it, this attempt at returning to routine, but. It’s been five minutes, and he’s taken seven sips of water (his throat is awfully dry these days), and he’s cleared his throat three times, and his finger has been tapping for the past minute, and he feels terror wash over him as he wonders, _If I speak, will anything come out? What if all I have left is my name again?_

And it rolls higher and higher, spreading up and outward and into his throat, until he blurts out, “Merle.”

Good start. Not his name. Somebody else’s.

Merle, to his credit, doesn’t look surprised or irritated or anything. He just hums and turns to Davenport, looking at him steadily.

Fuck. He needs to think of something to say. “So…I…” He falters. “You have kids.” Oh, fuck. This is something he’s mostly avoided talking about to this point. “I mean, that’s okay. I—it’s okay. You didn’t remember me. And, I mean, even if—I mean—this sounds accusatory, I swear it’s not meant to be, just a statement. You have kids. Uh…Mavis…and Mookie, yeah?” 

Merle doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at him thoughtfully, and Davenport feels some of the terror begin to rise back up in him. How does he know that Merle is hearing the words he’s saying? What if all Merle is hearing is him saying ‘Davenport’, over and over again? What if this isn’t real, just another half-remembered dream of normalcy, and he’ll wake up and be _trapped_ again—his fists clench over his knees and he says, voice shaky, high-pitched with nervousness, “I don’t know many dwarf kids but I’m sure they’re fine. Good! They’re your kids, I mean, I’m sure they’re good kids, you’re their dad and—” Merle is still silent, and Davenport feels himself starting to get a bit light-headed. Logically he knows it’s probably from the hyperventilation, but logic isn’t really the first thing on his mind right now as his mind fills with _Oh, gods, no, not the static again, fuck, it’s happening again, isn’t it_ , and he babbles frantically, “Fuck, Merle, please say something, I—”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence before Merle says, with unfathomable gentleness, “Dav. Take a breath.”

He gasps, vision blurry and full of Merle as he gets up from his chair and creaks down to kneel in front of Davenport. Merle takes his hands, looking up at him. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Promise. Keep breathing, yeah? You can feel, uh…shit, I don’t know. I have a wooden hand now. That’s different. Can’t dream something that weird. Focus on that, maybe.”

And he does so, narrowing in on the feeling of the wood hand in his with an almost clinical detachment, on the smooth grain and the bumps here and there, on the knot in the junction between Merle’s thumb and index finger, and eventually breathing comes easier and he’s left staring dully at Merle’s hand, and the thumb of his other hand stroking idly over Davenport’s.

“There we go,” Merle murmurs, patting Davenport’s hand. “I’m sorry. I should have realized sooner.” 

“Realized what?”

“The silence thing, the thing about dreams. You mention it sometimes when you sleep.” Merle sighs, pulling back a hand to scratch at his beard before returning it to rest over Davenport’s hands, clasped on his lap. “Dumb of me. I was hopin’…I don’t know, that gettin’ things back to normal would be good for you, but…sorry. I shoulda thought.”

“It’s not your fault,” Davenport says, voice low and tired, reminded again of how dry his throat is. 

“It ain’t yours, if that’s your next point.” He doesn’t sound mad, just disgruntled. “Man, Lucretia really did a number on all of us, huh? I’m still figurin’ out how I feel about all of it, but you can’t deny that much.” 

Davenport sighs. “I don’t really want to talk about Lucretia.”

“Fair.” Merle eyes the chair critically. “You think this thing is big enough for both of us?”

“I don’t think s—”

“It’s gonna have to be,” Merle says decisively, “‘Cause this is not a bed conversation.” He pauses. “So long as you’re okay with me sitting next to you.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

Merle nods and squeezes in next to Davenport; with a bit of maneuvering and Merle grumbling, ‘get a couch’, Davenport’s sort of half-on, half-off Merle’s lap with Merle’s arm’s loosely around him. “Okay. So. Silence is a thing for you.”

Davenport lays back against Merle, still tired, staring out the window. “Guess so, yeah. I keep thinking…I don’t know. I keep needing to prove to myself I can talk.”

There’s a slightly-too-long pause, then Merle drops an absent-minded kiss on Davenport’s head. “Gotcha. Anything else?”

“Uh…I guess I’m gonna need you to respond, too…not all the time, maybe, but enough to convince myself you understand me.”

“Okay. I’ll do that, but—this isn’t a permanent solution, you know? Not tonight, but sometime we’re gonna need to start working on getting your brain to understand that—look. I get it. Not the same way, but I get it a bit. Sometimes…” Another too-long pause, and Davenport only notices Merle trembling because he’s pressed up against him. “Sometimes, I dream it didn’t stop at my arm. And sometimes, I see the Hunger taking this plane too, my kids and you and everyone I love, and sometimes.” His grip tightens around Davenport, and Davenport lifts their clasped hands to press a kiss to Merle’s knuckles. “Sometimes I look at you and wonder what happens if the next time I look at you, I don’t remember you at all.” 

Davenport laughs—just a small thing, barely even a chuckle. “We’re both pretty fucked up.” 

“Well.” Davenport can hear the smile in Merle’s voice, even though he sounds tired too. “That’s nothing too new.” 

And it’s a real laugh now, Davenport sagging into Merle’s arms as he giggles helplessly until he snorts, and then Merle is laughing too, hugging him tight and chortling against his neck.

Davenport turns around so he can kiss Merle properly, and Merle grins as he wipes away tears that Davenport hadn’t noticed until that moment. He’s not sure if it’s from laughing or from sadness, but he doesn’t know it matters right then. Merle’s smile dims a bit when he says, “I missed you, you know.”

“Neither of us remembered each other,” Davenport mumbles, looking away so he doesn’t have to deal with the emotion in Merle’s eyes.

“Nah. I missed you anyway, though.”

Davenport looks back at Merle, then exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah. Me too.” The silence only lasts for a few moments before he murmurs, “Fuck, Merle.” The sudden moment of joy fades away as fast as it came. “What are we going to do?”

“Same as always,” Merle says matter-of-factly. 

Davenport snorts again, hiding his head against Merle’s shoulder. “And what’s that.”

He can feel Merle’s shrug against his forehead. “Get by, I guess.”

He draws back to look Merle in the eyes for a moment, then kisses him again, fleeting, before he gives a wry smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

“All we can do.”

“You’re right.”

“Happens every now and then. You know what we can do right now specifically?”

“Mm.”

“Lie down. Fuck, this chair is uncomfortable. Did you buy it?”

Davenport rolls his eyes. “Nah. Donation. I’ll get something better when I find someplace more permanent to stay.” He gets off Merle, then after a second, takes Merle’s wood hand again to pull him up. He’s not going to say it right now, but it is sort of comforting having something that reminds him this isn’t a dream. Merle doesn’t make any effort to drop his hand, though, so maybe he knows anyway. 

“Mm, yeah. Stay. We’ll have to talk about that sometime too.” 

“Good thing I’m doing a lot of talking right now, I guess,” Davenport jokes ineffectually, walking towards the bed, pulling the coverlet back, then climbing in. “But not tonight.” 

“Yeah. Not tonight.” Merle climbs in after him, pulling the covers over them both, then wraps his arms around Davenport again.

They talk about other things after that—something about plants, some neutral ground. The sun has long since gone down, but they didn’t really need to see the sunset anyway. They’ve seen it before, and they know they’ll still be able to see it tomorrow, and the day after that.

And later, much later, after a lot of healing on both their parts, Merle is right: they’ll get by, and they’ll flourish, even. But for now, they fall asleep together, hands entwined.

The night is silent, but Davenport will eventually learn once more that that’s all right.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you wanna hit up my tumblr at any point it's [anuninterestingperson](http://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com). also check out [myles's tumblr at transdavenport](http://transdavenport.tumblr.com) cause he's brilliant


End file.
